


Omoni's Torigore50 (Abovetale Edition)

by Omoni



Series: Abovetale [36]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: An excuse to post more smut, Attempted Murder, Bullying, But it's important so there, F/F, F/M, Gender-neutral character (til 16), Literally only one chapter has the bad tags mentioned already, Mild Sexual Assault, Physical Abuse, Raising Frisk, Reconciliation, Reconciliation Sex, Student Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2019-11-14 16:56:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18056453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omoni/pseuds/Omoni
Summary: I finally made it! I wanted to finally start a collection for these two, as there is soooo much that happens throughout all of Abovetale, that are really cool and I wanna write 'em. Plus, I also want to add to the very tiny pool of Toriel/Asgore smut. (And yes, while it does say Toriel/Asgore/Sans, there will be no smut.)I've capped it at 50 to start, and based on my own drive for it, as well as possible requests (please, feel free to request anything you didn't get to see in Abovetale regarding these two).And yes, I don't care if people love to hate Abovetale, now. I'm not writing it for you. I'm writing this for me; I'm just letting you see it.Enjoy!





	1. Defeat

Asgore didn't want to.

He didn't.

He'd tried his best not to.

He'd left a puzzle behind, but with hopes that the one reading it would think it a joke, and leave.

_Please, please leave...!_

But they weren't leaving.

He could hear their footfalls around his house-within-a-palace, and it made him close his eyes, swallow down bile, and pretend he was deaf.

The tin watering can in his hands began to clank, and when he looked down, he found his claws indenting the metal.

Asgore looked up, straight up, to where there were holes in the ceiling, where bits of erosion and weather shifts had exposed the home's eroded glory to the surface – if not for the barrier, making their eyes see nothing...

_How?_

_How did they get here?_

_How was it possible for a child to get this far?_

Of course Asgore knew that the footsteps belonged to a child. How could he not? He remembered the sound, heard it deep from within his heart during fever-dream-filled, lonely nights, from ages and ages ago, only to wake up in the hell he'd created for himself – one that was as close to heaven as he could get it to be for everyone else.

_Including Tori..._

_She'd failed again._

He still remembered Alphys's voice, when she'd asked him if he was sure that he wanted Undyne to “do her job”, and he'd said yes.

The hesitation had told him all he'd needed to know about the human, and just how hard this was going to be. He'd selfishly, heartlessly hoped Undyne had the strength for it, because if she didn't, the human would come here, and...

And he suddenly thought of Toriel.

_How did it feel, to know that you've failed a final time, and know that whatever fate they ended up with, you couldn't of prevented, even if you tried...?_

_Was it similar to the taste of bile and acid, and blood, his throat torn, with screams and cries, with self-hatred and grief, every time he had to...?_

_I_ had _to..._

He knew it was a lie.

It was the biggest lie he forced himself to believe.

Otherwise, he would have to admit to being a coward, a fool, a king who'd barely been a prince, a father, who'd lost both of his children at once, was no longer a father...

If he _didn't_ lie: if he didn't write that single line within years and years of daily diaries; if he didn't hum while watering flowers; if he didn't pick up his snails; if he didn't visit the schools; if he didn't rescue Alphys and hired her; if he'd never grabbed a furious young girl by the back of her shirt, and asked if she wanted to know how to defeat him...

If he did _none_ of that, then he would have killed himself, the second Toriel had sent that crown back to him.

 _What a way to deliver divorce papers,_ he remembered, now, his eyes filling with fresh tears. Already signed by Toriel, and attached to a box that held her crown.

It was especially cruel, and he remembered that, too: how truly mean she could get, unforgiving and silent, until he begged for forgiveness...

He'd lost her. He'd never deserved her.

He heard it, then: tentative footsteps going down the staircase, then down the hallways...

…and then, stopping behind him, something he luckily had managed to turn his back to, just before the human saw his face.

Saw his _grief_.

He pretended to not know the child was there, but of course he did. He sang, but everything was shaky, and it was a lousy song.

When forced to, Asgore turned around — and almost fainted, his entire body going whitehot with shock.

 _Chara!_ his heart cried, seeing Frisk - and only seeing her great-aunt, from that distance.

Once he was close enough, thought, he stopped – and backed up.

It wasn't Chara.

But it was someone who _looked_ like Chara – even had a similar presence to them - _her_ , he remembered absently, something Chara had chosen not long before she'd died.

But Chara did not have dark brown hair, nor did she have brown skin, or brown eyes – eyes he only saw later, when filled with happy tears...

 _Maybe_ this  _is fate,_ he decided, barely listening to himself talk, knowing he was saying generic nonsense to keep stalling. _To face the last human who looks so much like the first._

The second the silence fell between them, within the Barrier, he closed his eyes, and summoned the six other souls he'd stolen.

_If I win, I’ll break it – and kill myself, free myself of this hell, this pathetic existence I’ve given myself, and give Tori the surface, what she'd always deserved..._

_If I lose, and they kill me, they'll use my soul to either cross the Barrier – or destroy it._

All it took was seven human souls – and one Boss Monster's.

_Mine._

_This human would choose for themself. They'll choose to lock the rest of us away – or set us free, at last..._

Their eyes met.

Again, Asgore felt uncanny familiarity, and it hurt him. Frisk looked up at him with hope – actual _hope_ – and he didn't have the courage to ask why – or _how_ – such a thing could be found, especially with Asgore still alive and in this human's way.

 _No_ , he decided, readying to destroy the human's choice of Mercy.

 _No_.

_I'm ready to die._

And that was when a plume of fire suddenly slammed into his still-cloaked shoulder, a powerful fireburst that sent him sprawling away, landing face-first against the closest wall.

Asgore slid down it, his eyes wide and his hands holding onto that wall for balance.

But he knew he had no concussion. He knew what he saw was real.

Toriel stood there, right in front of the human, and was reassuring them.

Asgore stared, trying to catch his breath, but it was impossible. It was utterly impossible.

Not with Toriel standing there, looking as beautiful as he'd last seen her, still stunning within her rage, a kind that makes one want to get burnt, just to get that close...

After that, when he'd finally managed to limp back over, he found the entire throne room slowly filling in – with people. He stared, shocked by how many people stood behind the human, and didn't want either of them to die.

 _They_ wanted Asgore to live, too?

He wouldn't get an answer to that question until much later, long after he'd forgotten about asking it.

But he was right.

They did.

They had indeed fallen in love with Frisk, surrounding them protectively, but in a way that held no aggression.

Every single monster wanted the same thing for Frisk (except Jerry; fuck Jerry): for Frisk to be adopted by Asgore and Toriel, and to start a new era of peace.

And he'd cried, almost fallen into Undyne's arms, because he wanted that, too.

It was _all_ he _ever_ wanted.

Even when, mere moments later, he was unable to remember anything but Toriel's name – and that she was in trouble – he still wanted it.

And it would take a few more years, but he would get it.

He would _earn_ it, and only looked back twice.


	2. Welcome (New New) Home (NSFW) (Learning Your Lessons)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come on. You all knew this would be the first smut chapter. Sit down. DON'T PRETEND YOU'RE NOT HERE FOR THIS CHAPTER ALONE AND EXPECT ME TO BUY IT :O
> 
> NSFW!!!

The day Asgore was completely done moving into Toriel's and Frisk's home was the same day that it was renamed by him: New New Home.

Frisk had laughed. “Why not New Home Home? Or New Home Home New? New Home, New Home? Like New York? Or New New New Home Home H--,”

Toriel covered Frisk’s mouth and rolled her eyes, making Frisk crack up happily, and Asgore scratch the back of his head and blush a little.

But then, Toriel added, “I think I really do like the New York idea...” with a catlike grin in his direction – worsening that blush.

Frisk teased both Asgore and Toriel, but even Asgore, trapped in an unlocked cage of his own terrors, knew they were _only_ teasing, knew that their – _Our_ , he thought, dazed – human child was just chiding in jest.

 _Anyone_ could see the happiness upon Frisk's face, the moment they all realised that it was finally time for Asgore to sleep over – and _stay_. He'd never done it before, staying on the couch until the other two fell asleep. He left deep into the night, long gone before they woke up, and it was distressing.

“Please stop doing this!” Toriel snapped at him, the last time he was called out on it. “You're confusing Frisk, making them feel like you don't know if you even want to _be_ here. It's... not _fair.”_

Asgore saw, however, that her eyes were filling with tears as she spoke, and rightfully assumed that she was also talking about herself.

She _was_. She was tired of him leaving before sunrise, and tired of sleeping alone, even as they spent their spare days planning their remarriage, together. He still refused to stay, when by now, it should be obvious that he belonged here, and probably had from the start.

Toriel wanted him _here_ , with _her_. He belonged _with_ _her_. She knew that, now.

She'd known that the second he'd kissed her, in the hallway of this very house, one almost identical to the ones Underground, holding her face in his hands and reminding her of how much she'd missed – and how much she _was_ missed...

She'd never taken another lover. When he admitted the same, she realised she already knew that. She knew _him_ , and knew that he mated once, and for life.

Asgore had chosen Toriel as his mate, and that was that.

He'd been surprised that _she'd_ remained celibate, however. He'd seen how sans had looked at her – and _still_ looked at her – and had seen the way she laughed at his jokes – and let him call her "Tori"; _Asgore's_ nickname for her, not _sans's_....

But when Asgore had asked her, terrified that she'd perhaps spent at least one night with sans, she'd smiled, then _laughed_ , looking away a bit shyly and shaking her head.

 _“No,”_ was all she said, between _incredulous_ laughs. “No, no, _no.”_

But her eyes suddenly lit up, and she snorted against her palm, brushing the tears from her eyes and concluding, with a wild grin, “Just... _no.”_

(However, years later, when he finally had the courage to ask her what she'd meant, she told him everything - and found herself carried to bed, after, both laughing the entire way Asgore raced down the hall.)

This time, Asgore didn't press it. It was part of what they'd needed to work on, together, in order to make this work, so that they _could_ really start anew – while still remembering their old ways…

Trust was a huge part of this problem, too. Not just for Toriel, but for Asgore, too.

A part of him was always waiting for him to find the house locked, his things sold or on the lawn.

A part of her was terrified that he would be unable to see past Chara, was unable to love Frisk as well as herself, before packing up and leaving overnight and in silence.

Toriel needed Asgore.

Every time he went to lie down on the couch, she'd wanted to drag him to her room by his long plait of golden hair, and lock him up with her – to then make the night _theirs_ , _finally_...

So that in body, they were already remarried, even as they still waited for their renewal license…

It was all she wanted, now.

But no matter how hard they’d made it clear that both wanted each other, Asgore was still afraid. He was terrified that this was a sweet dream, or a timeline that would get erased, and he would be forced to start all over, again, _alone_...

It never did: Frisk kept their promise.

But Asgore was still afraid, because he needed Toriel, too.

* * *

Now, the night was here, at last.

Asgore no longer had any excuse to sleep anywhere else, and Toriel could no longer _allow_ him to sleep anywhere else - save right beside her.

When he found himself about to settle onto the couch, purely out of habit, he didn't even get to bend his knees to sit before he suddenly found himself being led away by the hand, into Toriel’s room, by Toriel, herself.

The whole time, he was watching her pace ahead of him in a curt, almost business-like stroll, while also making sure he kept up, and wasn't left behind.

Toriel realised that _she'd_ been the one who'd missed the only answer: someone needed to tell Asgore what to do.

Otherwise, he would simply miss his final chance, and end up yearning for the same things she already wanted from him, forgetting to just _ask_ her for clarification, worried about frustrating her and frustrating her, _anyway_...

 _And_ himself...

Toriel knew he was oblivious to this side of himself, so she did what she'd done when they'd been young and stupid: she was dragging him to her room, throwing him down onto her bed, and – pending his approval, of course – fucking his brains out, cowgirl-style.

 _It had worked rather well,_ Toriel remembered fondly. She found herself resorting to this almost prehistoric default without so much as an extra blink of hesitation or doubt.

She knew what she wanted. She knew how to get it. She knew how to get past what held her back.

And knew he needed her to, so that he knew she _meant_ it.

Once in the room, after turning off the lights and and locking the door closed, Toriel pulled Asgore over, shoved him onto his back and right across her bed - before she jumped on him, wrapping around him and clinging onto him tight, her breaths immediately catching, the second she registered how amazing he felt beneath her.

Asgore came back to himself, breaking free of a stunned haze when he suddenly realised where he was: in Toriel's room, in her bed, with her already straddling his hips and keeping him pinned down onto the bed.

It was a bed that was filled with her scent, making him feel needy and desperate. He'd _missed_ this, missed her intimate, personal scents, and he felt his heart begin to warm up, the familiarity a deep comfort to him.

Asgore raised his eyes, then, and looked at her - and he lost his breath. She hovered above him, _atop_ him, and he smiled up at her, the feel of her body pressed along his own making him feel slow and stupid – but also well aware of what was happening – and what _he_ truly wanted, too.

 _Her_.

Toriel looked back at him, feeling her face burn, knowing she was blushing like a child but unable to make it stop. Instead, she focused on him – and that helped, a great deal.

Toriel's hands went to the front of his shirt, her face went into the crook of his neck, but then, she paused, swallowing hard and waiting, unable to help the fact that she was trembling, almost as hard as she had their first night, together – _ever_.

Asgore's hands went to her hips, sliding his palms up her thighs to get to them, bunching up her skirt on the way. He also paused, so that when she pulled away to look at him, they were both waiting for the signal, the one sign they both needed to know that this was okay, and they had every right to do it.

Both knew exactly how much rode on this night – pun intended or not – so when finally here, both were paralysed with the same terror they'd had as virgins: neither had no clue what the hell they were doing.

Their bodies remembered, however, and soon, their brains went quiet, no longer focusing on what could happen if this failed, or if none of this worked out, and they were no longer able to be together, again, after so long a time apart...

Toriel felt a switch being flipped within her body, something that had her hands moving on their own, each one removing pieces of her own clothing – exchanging hers with some of his, too – and pretty soon, thanks to this, both were naked.

It made them both pause, their eyes meeting and their bodies going still. Asgore was lying down on his back, and while Toriel kept her knees around his hips and her hands pressed closely beside his ears and on the bed, she held herself up and away from him, moving up even more when he tried to bring her down atop him.

“Tori,” he hissed out, keeping his voice soft, scared that Frisk might hear. (Frisk did not; they'd been expecting this for _weeks_ , now, and listened to music all night and falling asleep through all of it.)

Toriel shivered, the sound of her name spoken like that making her feel half-crazed and starving, and her breaths became shaky. She suddenly wished the lights were still on, so that she could see him better – his body _and_ his face. 

She raised her head with a slight frown, her eyes going up, confusing him until he saw where she was looking. He smirked and held his hands up between them, getting her attention, and automatically, Toriel raised her hands to mirror his.

Together, with a gentle nudge of shared, mingling magicks, they both tossed it up and shaping a bright ball of shimmering firelight out of it, making it float up onto the ceiling, where it stuck like glue. It was fire, but did not burn through; the flames purely magical.

Toriel gaped up at it, then down at Asgore, amazed by how much understanding she could see within his eyes. The fact that he'd known to do that at all made her feel warm and weak-kneed, a ridiculous feeling for someone her age, but feeling it no less. 

Toriel was amazed. The fact that she'd also remembered this part, as well as the one she'd always played with him during other moments like this, stunned her as well as Asgore, both so certain that she'd forgotten.

The light illuminated them both, now, and finally, both could see each other, better. 

Asgore's eyes went wide, and he placed a hand on her shoulder, pushing her away so that he could sit up with her, to get a better look at her, and she of him. He then pulled her closer, so that she sat right in front of him, and she didn't fight it, _wanting_ him to see, wanting him to watch _her_ see _him_ , like they had all of those years ago.

Toriel was round, still, but also strongly-build, most of her bulk casually hidden under robes, turtlenecks, wool skirts and loose sweaters. She was still as soft, as warm, and as welcoming, as she'd been back then, and when she touched his chest, just as he touched her cheek, they both exhaled sharply. Her fur was always thicker than his, but also much shorter, and as always, she kept it softer than down, rather vain about it, still. If he thought about how she'd looked that first sunset, and compared it to now, he couldn't deny it: she looked much happier now than she had even at their best.

Asgore, Toriel was noting, was also round and strong, but she did note an added softness to his middle, one that hadn't been there when the barrier broke. She'd done that, never failing at feeding him well, like she fed all of her family. Even his pallor looked better, as did the quality of his fur and hair. She even saw that he'd _finally_ started brushing his tail, saw his eyes shine brightly between blue and orange when he noticed her seeing that. Toriel looked up at his face, unable to deny how much... _better_ he looked, now. 

Asgore looked so _happy_ , and Toriel had forgotten what that had looked like.

 _Everything_ – and _nothing_ – had changed when it came to this.

They'd stopped ageing the moment Asriel had died, and both had been around their early forties when it happened. They'd both stopped, and suddenly found themselves timeless and immortal, unless they had another baby - or unless someone decided to kill either one.

Their bodies had changed little over all of those stagnant years, something so incredible that it made Toriel close her eyes, certain once she reopened them, he would all be gone.

But she managed it, and found Asgore still before her, staring into her eyes the same way she stared into his.

They were seeing each other for the first time, so very long after the last time.

For a moment, one that seemed endless, that was all they did, both already prepared and hoping for a long, slow, forgiving night. It took time to remember intimacy, after all, and their case was especially significant.

However, when they both exhaled, their hands reached out – and grabbed hold of the other, so quickly that they both cried out, their breaths almost knocked out of them from the impact. Instead, it made them do the _only_ thing one could do when feeling like this.

They threw their plans away, like they had their clothes, and just lunged for each other.

Toriel pushed Asgore down against her – their, now – mattress, her hands on his shoulders and her claws sliding under his fur. Asgore grunted, his breath knocked out of him, again, quite nicely, but she kissed his lips, and he forgot why he cared. His arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her down closer, and _she_ grunted that time, the movement bringing him between her legs, the head of his cock now poking between the slick, almost too-slippery folds of her cunt. She gasped, shuddering and digging her claws in deeper, and he exhaled out of his nose, his head then tilting back and breaking free of that kiss, only now remembering how to breathe.

He'd forgotten. He'd absolutely forgotten what sex did to him. He'd forgotten what it was like to share your body with someone else, to bare yourself completely to the other, and being rewarded with the very same….

Toriel had, as well, and she felt incredibly foolish for it. She gritted her teeth, her fangs poking into her bottom lip, and she moved a hand between them, her other hand still holding Asgore's shoulder to the bed, her knees squeezed around his hips.

Both were soft in the places they both liked that softness, and firm where they both liked firmness. Their bodies once again took over for their shocked, overtly-chatty minds, and both watched their own actions in amazement. They'd always been a soft, large couple, both comfortable enough to be plump, but not in a way that stole it from others. It made _sex_ heavy and hot, slick with sweat and slippery where it counted.

In short, they both made each other _horny as fuck._

Toriel's fingers curling around Asgore’s cock, unable to hold back a shocked, delighted laugh, especially once she was reminded of this – and remembered how to use it. He was so hard, and yet so smooth, his foreskin almost velvet-like with how bare it was...

 _“Tori,”_ Asgore gasped out, his hands grabbing hold of her hips, trying to stop her, the feeling so good that it made him worry. He remembered that, how long - or little - it had taken him several attempts to learn how to hold back his own orgasm until she reached hers, first; the sight of was her simply too glorious, a complete sensory overload, to be ignored.

Admittedly, Asgore was dismayed that he still hadn't grown out of such teenaged haste, but knew he could never change it; she was _so_ beautiful, and that hadn't changed. He closed his eyes and let his hands slide over her naked body, to remember these soft curves and generous lines, to remind himself how to make her so happy that she laughed as she came...

Toriel felt his hands go over her body, and watched them do it beneath the light of the flickering ball above them. She watched his eyes and his hands, keeping hers still but firm, listening to how shaky his breaths were, especially in the dark quiet of nighttime…

Then, she heard her own, and realised how fast her own heart was beating. Her throat hurt, as did her eyes, and she tried to clear her throat, mortified by such immaturity. She was about to weep, and it embarrassed her.

When Asgore's hand reached her face, he brushed away her tears, and she watched him do that, too, surprised that she hadn't felt them until now.

“Tori?” Asgore whispered, getting a bit worried.

He watched Toriel stare at him, unable to move or look away, her whole body shaking. She didn't even move her hands, but she also didn't move her body. She was a statue, her mind suddenly flooded with the memory of how painful it had been to _lose_ him...

She recalled now how her heart had broken into pieces the second she received the divorce papers back. She hadn't wanted them back. She'd wanted a _fight:_  a protest, a plea of forgiveness; a chance to make her yearn for him and bring her back home; a chance to try and bring him back with her, but...

“I don't want to let you back in if you're going to break my heart, again, Asgore,” she answered, her eyes filling up with more tears she didn't feel.

Asgore felt his fill, however, making them glitter under the shimmering light overhead. She hated to see them; hated that she made him sad enough to do it; hated that she had to second-guess him at all, but...

She still had to say it. She couldn't do a thing more without saying it.

“Believe me, Toriel: I would rather _die_ than leave you. Never again... _please_...” Asgore was begging, his voice choked up. His other hand went to her other cheek, and she lowered her head, closing her eyes and pressing each hand closer with her shoulders.

When Toriel heard him laugh, she smiled, the sound soothing her.

“I _do_ believe you,” she admitted. “But I believed you back then, too.” She sniffled, and she wished she could hide, feeling too weak to be able to deal with this all of a sudden.

“You and I both know that things are different, now,” he answered. “Now, our paths are finally parallel. Now, we can finally have time to try again...” He sniffled, this time. “To _love_ again...”

Toriel closed her eyes, realising that _that_ was what she'd been waiting to hear. She'd wanted to hear it, and believe it. She'd wanted to be able to start trusting him, again, without any trace of doubt left within her entire soul.

_What better way to do so than with...?_

Toriel opened her eyes, and they met his, Asgore’s lighting up a little when they did, and he smiled, shyly. He rubbed her cheeks, and with a smile of her own, she leaned back – and rubbed his cock.

His made a short, low chuff of surprise, his eyebrows going up, and her eyes didn't leave his. When he noticed, he of course held her gaze in return, and he moved a hand under her ear, holding the back of her head, the perpetual shortness of her hair feeling so nice against his fingers…

“Asgore,” Toriel murmured, her body shuddering in anticipation, something he saw and noticed with a pleased, shy smile. “Do not let me go.”

When Asgore moved his hands to her hips, Toriel smiled happily, the exact reaction she'd hoped for. She stopped waiting, her claws digging into his shoulder for balance, and she moved her hips down, bringing him between her legs and brushing past her folds, until she felt him _within_ her cunt, and....

“Oh, _dear,”_ Toriel gasped out, the second they were fully connected, and her hips met his, his entire length within herself. Her hands went to his chest, her palms flat against his hardened nipples, and she closed her eyes, feeling her own do the same – especially when Asgore sat up to wrap his tongue around one of them, keeping her hips held down against his, making matters so much worse…

Asgore had to, though. He closed his eyes tight, panting so fast that he couldn't help but feel dizzy, his cheek now pressed between her breasts. The second he felt himself fully within her, and felt her clench around him, he did what he hadn’t done in a long while, so long that he forgot he even _did_ such a thing.

He shuddered, then _whimpered_ , the sound coming from deep within his throat, his reddening cheeks now streaked with tears, darkening the fur upon his face.

A face she loved, missed, needed, had to have between her hands...

But when Toriel tried to reply, she heard herself answer the exact same way that he did, and threw her arms around his neck, instead, pressing her chest against his and burying her hands into his hair. He backed up, so that he sat up against the headboard, and Toriel didn't even let go, her hold too strong to break.

They kissed, heat flashing between them, unable to share such intimacy without a little magic. Toriel did most of the moving, her hips moving faster than he could even try to keep up with. Toriel found that exciting, amazed that she still could, and it felt so _good_ , the moment they started.

“Tori, _please_ \--!” Asgore groaned against her lips, his hands still holding her hips tight, but his face moved away, and he buried it into her neck. She felt his hands sliding up to her the small of back, his fingers digging in, just as her hands tangled perfectly into his golden hair, perfectly fine with being the one in charge - and remembering how to, _perfectly_.

It had always been that way. From their first moment, Asgore knew he could trust Toriel with his body, and she loved to take care of him, in a way that helped her, too.

Now, he was back, and they felt that trust and care between them, still.

 _He's back_ , Toriel focused on, her head tilting back as her breaths began to catch. _He's back, right here, in my arms, in my bed, a bed now ours, where he belongs, within me..._

She felt like a lovesick fool, and not just because it was good sex, either. It was about the intimacy, the trust she was giving him, and the fact that he didn't hesitate to do the same, was what made it good in the first place.

Asgore pressed his other cheek against her chest, again, glad his horns curved in the right direction, so that they didn't catch on her skin. Toriel wrapped her arms around his head, pressing her cheek against the top of it, trying so very, very hard to pace herself, or at least not to make as much noise as she felt she needed to, wanted to, for him to hear, for him to never doubt her, again...

But she made them, anyway, anyway – and he adored every single one.

“Gorey... I...” Toriel whispered, her lips tracing his ear gently. “Remind me...? I _beg_ you...” Her voice caught, ending in a soft cry of, _“Please...?”_

Asgore's eyes opened wide, because he couldn't understand why she would ask such a thing. _Remind her of what?_ he thought, then bit his lip, looking slightly panicked, but still with desire to figure it out.

Toriel noticed, and she smiled, patiently and gently, and _she_ pressed _her_ cheek against _his_ chest, giving him time and staying quiet as he thought. Asgore closed his eyes, burying his nose into the soft hair between her horns, shivering and smiling - and thinking.

Toriel's eyes opened, just for a moment, to see that smile, before she closed them, again – and shifted her hips forward, in a way that no longer needed to be requested, from either of them.

 _That's it_ , they both knew: _how good was._

Toriel raised her head, pressing her forehead to Asgore's and staring into his eyes, her hands now at his hips and holding tight, her body moving with little to no thought, save random thoughts of, _“Asgore feels good; I feel good; we feel good._ This _is good.”_

Asgore stared back, breathless and speechless from her beauty, in both her appearance and her actions. He quickly moved to latch onto her – and shifted his hips up to meet her own, and that made them both grin.

That was all either of them needed.

“Tori,” Asgore hissed out, barely getting it out, as the pace they'd now set for themselves made him stumble on each syllable, with each stumble she made against him.

“Yes, my love,” Toriel whispered back, her claws digging into his soft, fleshy hips.

Her tongue slid over her fangs, and she grinned, as when she did that, he obviously forgot what he'd wanted to say. Instead, all he did was squeak out with yearning, remembering those teeth all in one rush, and one of his hands went up, his thumb slowly brushing over one. It was sharp, poking into his flesh, and it made him hold his breath and shiver, close to losing his _absolute_ _mind_...

“Gorey--!” Toriel laughed, the second he just slumped beneath her, looking like a horny, lovesick teenager, the one she'd known as one, herself. She used her next thrust to lean against him, and with a chuckle of his own, he slid down, grabbed her hips, and moved them across the bed, again.

Asgore, however, was still quite tall, so it was hardly a surprise that his head went over the edge of it, right to his neck. It made them both laugh, especially when his head just fell back and all he could do was squawk with surprise, unprepared and almost spilling both of them onto the floor.

Asgore started giggling, raising his head up and moving to press his forehead back to hers. In reply, she giggled, too, and instead shoved him back down, making him yelp again and her collapse onto his front, almost crying with laughing alongside him, now.

It did put a hold on that good sex, but it was for the best cause. They clung to each other, both one wrong lunge overboard, and yet they couldn't stop laughing. It was so childish, so ridiculous and silly, and yet it was the funniest thing that either had ever experienced, before.

Soon, their laughs did subside, after a couple more restarts, and once both were calm, Toriel made a discovery that nearly set her off, again.

Asgore was still rock-hard within her.

Toriel met his gaze, one she noticed was busy avoiding hers, just as his face flushed scarlet. He let his head tilt back, and – shocking them both – he made an exaggerated gagging noise, and declared, “No. I'm dead, Tori. Let me die like this. Let me die the happiest man in the world.” By the end, he was smiling.

Toriel blushed, deeply touched by that, but she tried to hide it by being an absolute brat. She sat up, crossed her arms in front of her breasts – and grinded her hips against his, making sure she squeezed around him the entire time he slid back in within her.

Asgore gasped, jackknifing up and grabbing hold of her, and she smirked. “Some corpse _you_ are, with a stiffy like _this!_ Is that the only _bone_ you got?” she declared, pulling her arms apart to place her hands on her hips, raising an eyebrow.

Asgore made a face, then hid it between her breasts – before trying to smother himself between him, bringing up a muffled giggle.

Toriel held him, her eyes fluttering closed a little, but she also grinned – and reached up, her hands going to he back of his head, and keeping him held up, there.

He laughed, again, nuzzling her even harder within his marshmallow prison, and she did, too.

Because when she did, she moved her hips, again – and this time, there were no more pauses in-between. Asgore's fingers dug into her back, and he began to meet each one, bending up his knees and digging his heels into the bed.

Toriel cried out, then, her eyes squeezing shut and her entire body jerking with shock. Asgore froze, pulling away to look up at her, but when he saw the expression on her face – strained and desperate desire – he realised that now, things were officially serious.

Asgore got better hold of her, ignoring it when his back whined at him, his neck a little strained, too, but he didn't care. He pulled her close, holding her firmly, but with a tenderness that brought tears to her eyes, and she shivered, shifting against him so that he would do that, again, needing him to so _very_ much...

He could tell. He could feel it, hugging around his cock, how hot and how wet she already was, and just how intense this experience was for her. He understood it, and with a soft growl and a nuzzle of her cheek, he grabbed her hips and angled his own up – and once again, they resumed - fast and hard.

“Gorey,” Toriel murmured, her voice high-pitched and tiny with amazement, her eyes still closed tight. “ _Oh_ , I’d... forgotten... about this...!” Her chin was resting on one of his shoulders, peering over it blindly, her mouth then lowering down and curving around that shoulder.

Asgore shivered, and she felt it. She also felt him twinge within her, his eagerness as naked as her own. She teased him a little, her body moving almost outside of her own control, able to maintain such a pace while grazing his fur and skin with the tips of her fangs.

“I... I... did, too,” Asgore agreed, his voice raspy and low. He kept his face buried into the curve of her neck, his eyes shut and his teeth gritted, each word said between them. “Please, Tori...”

She paused, and suddenly, she felt something curl, then wrap, around one of her ankles. It took seconds to remember, and when she did, her eyes closed, too, burning with affectionate tears.

 _“Oh, my love...!”_ Toriel croaked out in reply, no longer able to pretend, to play about, or to hold it in. She wouldn't. He was too wonderful, too unreal, too blissfully dreamlike, and she was desperate to enjoy this dream, before she awoke, again, without him...

 _“Please...!”_ Asgore begged in return, waking her up.

Toriel nodded, burying her nose right into the curve of his neck, even before he'd begun to speak, and sank her teeth into that soft, fuzzy skin without breaking it. She growled, vibrations Asgore felt alongside that sweetly-stinging bite, and _he_ was the one who cried out hoarsely, next.

The last thread finally broke between them, the final one that had kept them apart, in those quick, dizzy seconds. But when it did, it meant that there was absolutely nothing left to hold them back, anymore.

They were finally free to love, again.

Asgore felt it, and grunted, grabbing hold of Toriel, again and flipping her over, but also in a way that had her head now rested on pillows. She'd felt it, too, and didn't let go of him – _anywhere_ – and instead, she was the one to raise her legs and hook them around his neck, this time. He made a shocked, happy sound, sliding his hands along her thighs, from hips to knees, before hooking her ankles better behind his head. Her hands reached around them and grabbed his hips, and he pushed her down – and pushed into her deep.

Toriel cried out, later embarrassed that she'd forgotten about this, but now, it was the only thing she could do. It was the only way she knew _how_ to convey how she felt, and was relearning that language she'd shared only with him.

Asgore heard it, and he kissed her, swallowing another cry of his own, before Toriel jerked out of it, in order to bite the other side of his neck.

“Tori! _Oh_...” Asgore hissed out, unable to help it: he increased the pace, pushed down as close to her as possible, and focused on what he was feeling – and how it made Toriel feel – in order to maintain it for them both.

Toriel bit harder when she felt that, feeling him striking her deeply within, against that soft spot, and she was shocked; she'd somehow forgotten _this_ , too. She'd... _helped herself_... before, using her hands (or a cleverly-placed pillow), but not to reach _within_. She didn't know how; only he knew how to find it.

Asgore did indeed find it, and with it, Toriel felt something she never thought she'd _ever_ feel again in her lifetime: the intensity of an _internal_ orgasm, one skillfully drawn out and made to bloom, faster than she could even _breathe_...

“Asgore! _Asgore...!”_ she stammered, her voice muffled by his shoulder. Her hands had gone back up into his hair, and her ankles hooked together behind his head, tickled by his ears.

Asgore heard her, as his face was buried in the pillow below her, unable to make any sounds other than shocked cries, cries that were growing louder, and they threatened to twist into high-pitched sobs. He even tried to bite the pillow, to muffle himself, but it was absolutely no use, and he had no idea why he'd even bothered to try.

 _“Gorey, please--!”_ Toriel suddenly sobbed, her head falling back onto the pillow with him, nuzzling his cheek desperately. “Please, Gorey, I’m _so close_ , I _need you,_ I need _to_ \--!”

“You are?” Asgore answered, his voice as high as he'd feared it would be, but there was no use fighting it. “Certainly?”

 _“Please!”_ Toriel insisted, her hands now on his cheeks and trying to pull him to her, her legs starting to tremble and her voice growing hoarse.

Asgore looked at Toriel, finally _looked_ at her, and _saw_ her, her true self: she was scarlet, from face to chest, and wherever her body had angles and bends felt slick with sweat. He knew he was the same, but when he saw her face, he again forgot how to care.

Because Toriel was staring at him with true love, her eyes bright and glowing, her tears glittering with the glow-light above, while her eyes seemed to glow on their own, two rubies caught in pure moonlight.

The best part, however, was her smile. She _was_ smiling, even as she cried and begged, even as her eyes began to cloud over and her breaths became ragged. She smiled, because she was with him, she was giving him pleasure – while also being given his just as freely. 

Asgore had no idea that, while _he_ didn't exactly _smile_ , his face still shone with how much he still clearly loved her, and how he stared at her like a long-lost treasure, one finally found – and better than remembered.

And that was exactly how it was, for the _both_ of them.

Asgore moved his face to Toriel's, and with a hungry growl, she kissed him, her fingers digging into his cheeks. She cried out, anyway, her eyes slowly rolling up, then closing, starting to grin, continuing to weep, but still singing, songs hidden within her soul, music heard by him alone...

“Oh, _Gorey_...” she then mewled out, feeling those first few waves brush up against her. “Please... oh, _please_ …! _Please_ \--!”

After that, all Toriel could do was cry out, her voice breaking between shocked, overjoyed laughs. She arched her back, digging her heels into his back, and she just... took him in... took _all_ of him in, and...

Asgore felt it from the very start, and he _did_ try. It was a very noble effort, considering the fact that this was his first time in _decades_ that he not only had sex, but even felt the pleasure of an orgasm. He'd kept his eyes on her face, even as she kept her own closed, and when he felt her start to come, he choked, trying to shift to slow down, just in case he was wrong, but...

_But..._

…it was _Toriel_.

Asgore was with _Toriel_.

His _only_ love. His happiest joy.

His most challenging opponent, and his bestest friend...

And he just couldn't hold back.

Asgore felt it mere seconds after Toriel did, and to his surprise, it silenced him. It made his throat bone-dry, and his tongue go numb. Now, all he could feel was bliss, the _purest_ bliss, one only _she_ could give him...

Toriel gasped when she felt it, because when she did, she was only halfway through her own, and felt her own pleasure increase, simply because she remembered that feeling, that warm, almost soothing feeling, and it turned her on even more.

Without any hope of rescue, they held each other tight, their only source of true rescue being each other. If they were locked together like this, feeling their pleasures mere seconds apart, then there was truly nothing to fear – and nothing left to be rescued from.

In those last moments, they kissed again, both babbling nonsense between each kiss, nonsense they both understood, and had missed hearing.

It was a language of love, and of forgiveness.

But it was also of renewal, of regrowth.

Together, right now, within this bubble of glee, they were at the very start of a new life, together.

Decades after resigning themselves to endless monotony, likely followed by emotionless suicide, when a hand held to the other would end that boredom and save both lives...

Years after being forced to accept that the other no longer loved them, when it was the furthest from the truth for both…

Death and loss, regret and resignation, of missing children and found souls, merely playing roles they'd forced upon the other, barely able to continue living without mandatory distraction…

All of that was over, now.

The second it ended was the very same one that allowed them both to collapse, and with a shared, breathless cry, they did, refusing to let go of each other, despite being so sweaty that it made them both shiver as their bodies cooled.

Slowly, eventually, it was Asgore who began to shiver, first, reminding Toriel that she had a body, too.

Neither had stirred in quite some time, both only noticing now that the light they'd magicked above them had gone out without their notice.

Asgore frowned, slowly raising his head to look, but that was when Toriel startled back awake, her arms circling around him tighter once she remembered where she was – and what had just happened.

It got his attention, so that when she looked up at him, her eyes half-open and dark, he was already looking back, his own burning, alongside his throat.

Toriel blinked with surprise, trying to sit up and take hold of him... and fail. But it was the fact that she tried that made Asgore unable to hold back his tears. The second her hands touched his face, he broke down, his eyes closed, just as he felt himself cling back – and bury his face between her breasts, shivering, still.

Toriel, for a moment, was speechless, but not motionless. Neither could talk – that much was clear – but that didn't mean neither could communicate. She placed a hand on his head, starting to stroke his hair, while her other grabbed the closest blanket, trying to drag it over him.

He was so very large, even while feeling so helplessly tiny, and with a few more huffs of effort, she finally had him wrapped up and within her arms. 

Asgore huddled into it, feeling Toriel's hands going over his body, and he could barely believe they were hers; her touch was so soft, but also confident, and she never hesitated, not even when settling down with him.

When they were, Toriel had buried her nose into the top of his head, between his horns and into the part of his hair, her hand sliding through those white and blond tresses with her eyes closed. His scent – his entire being – washed over her, and she was shocked to find relief, contented, even. She'd expected herself to become frantic once this was over, overwhelmed and terrified of letting him back in, but...

 _But... it's Asgore_.

Toriel closed her eyes tighter, gritting her teeth, her other hand digging into his blanket-covered shoulder. She didn't stop her petting, but she also couldn't hold back her own tears. 

Not while holding him like this, listening to him weeping, his voice growing lower – and slightly louder – the more he allowed himself to do it.

Asgore realised that _that_ was the problem in the first place: he'd never let himself do this, never allowed himself to _grieve_ over her, the moment he watched that first human's eyes go out, then close.

Instead, he'd wept different tears, even while he forced himself to take that soul, and dragged himself over, to find a place for it, realising he hadn't even _thought_ of that...

He'd refused to cry over her, save weak nights alone, in the endless dark. But even then, he'd never... _mourned_.

He'd thought it was stubborn denial, but it wasn't. He _had_ accepted her decision, and he wished he could divorce himself, too.

But he couldn't. He'd had to hide. He'd been forced to pretend that he was always jolly, always happy, and never afraid. He knew that his life had never been his, alone – not since he felt his crown settle upon his head - and they needed him to be jolly, happy, and brave. 

Now, he _broke_. He grieved, and mourned, and found years and years – _too many years_ – of smothered pain finally burst free. He knew they would drown him, now, but he stopped caring.

If he drowned, now, at least it was from here, within her embrace.

But it broke Toriel, too. She could hear it, _all_ of it, and felt shame slap her.

 _She'd_ been allowed to have a private life, only because she'd forced him to lead a public one. She'd been able to hide, and be left alone. She did help around the Ruins, but she also knew she wasn't really needed. Not if there were no humans to try to save...

Each human had walked through Home.

Each one had been fed and cared for by her.

Each one had left her, and each one had arrived, gift-wrapped in Toriel's scent and care, to either kill - or _be_ killed. She'd personally sent them to him perfectly ripe for killing, because she made sure that they saw her – and through her, the other monsters – as people, which disarmed most of them almost at once.

It had made them easier to kill, and she was forced to accept how large her part had been in contributing to his pain.

He _was_ a coward. But when the time warranted it, he could be just as ruthless as her.

And Toriel hated it. She'd never wanted _any_ of this, but she'd already gone too far. She knew she'd done herself a great deal of harm, her true intent, but the worst was finally accepting how _brutally_ she'd treated him.

Toriel forced Asgore as ruthless as she'd been in order to become a killer. And that was because she was just as cowardly as him, preferred to duck her head and pretend everything was perfect, too.

In silence, they clung to each other, these thoughts floating between them, alongside each painful sob or weak, mumbled gibberish.

Neither needed a translator, however.

Both could hear, in that silence, the other screaming in pain. Neither fought it. By now, to try was meaningless.

It was unsurprising, then, that barely after an hour, both had drifted into light, gradual sleep, waking only when the other sniffled or move – but always falling back to sleep once settled, again.

Neither remembered when they'd dropped off, or what they'd wanted to say.

All of it was forgotten - and forgiven - the second both drifted away in the other's arms.

Safe, and at peace, together - _at fucking last._

Pun _absolutely_ intended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I admit it: this was pure indulgence. I LOVE make-up sex, especially after being an absolute nightmare, because the words that had hurt before now vanish the second discussion stops. Words complicate a lot, especially when it comes to the most sensitive and painful shames that we all have to face. To be able to face them together, as one, is the only way to help both get past it. 
> 
> Acknowledge, accept... and embrace. <3


	3. Some People's Children (Learning Your Lessons) (TW)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahaha I hate everything, have a story I'm too lazy to even check my own continuity before I publish it because really, who cares, who pays that much attention, save like five people, lol.
> 
> Listen. Trans people and enbie people are getting treated like shit, on a daily basis. What Frisk ends up dealing with is something that, I have been told, is very common amongst trans gender children and young adults. In high school, I wasn't sure, and I suffered from it (maybe a 1/1000 of what actual trans people/enbies go through), and it was not easy at all. So I'm not writing this to "be mean to Frisk, like always". It's not only answering an often-asked question, but reveals the ugly side of humanity, and how ridiculously harmful and toxic our society is for being so pissy about something as person and as private as what is under a person's own clothes. So, yeah. I have reasons.
> 
> Trigger warnings for:  
> -child abuse ("bullying")  
> -misgendering and queerphobia (toward a gender-neutral person)  
> -attempted sexual assault (undetailed, and it's stopped quite appropriately

Frisk had thought _it_ would happen almost right away. They gave their parents both a month, and when there was no call into the living room for a “family discussion”, their human was bemused.

Frisk watched their parents, especially when they didn't notice it. They saw how in love they were, again or anew - or both - and the happiness it brought them both as well as frisk. Granted, there had been a _couple_ of fights, big ones that sometimes made Frisk hide with fear, but they also noticed that anger never lasted longer than a day. Once morning came, the two were attached, again, and laughing like it never happened.

Frisk wondered if they should try spying, but realised that such a thing would also risk _seeing_ them... _do it._.. and that was something they never wanted to see, no matter how much they loved their parents.

So, they gave them two more months, thinking that maybe it took longer for them; Frisk knew nothing about monster reproduction, yet, and wouldn't truly understand it until actually doing it, themself. Since that was still quite a few years from then, Frisk was frustrated, never seeing any evidence of Toriel being pregnant – and Frisk knew they were  _doing_ what it took.

Frisk made sure to never _hear_ , but still _knew_...

So, finally, in February or March of their thirteenth year, Frisk lost their patience and blurted out, “Why haven't you had a baby, yet?”

Toriel dropped the pie she'd been holding, which luckily landed on the table. Her eyes went to her child's in shock. Asgore, too, was staring, though there was a light in those eyes that Toriel caught – but Frisk did not.

“Well,” Toriel said, before coughing; her voice was a little thick. “The thing is... we have you...”

Asgore suddenly interrupted. “We weren't sure if you would want another sibling, given what happened to you...” His eyes darkened. "Before."

Frisk blinked in surprise, especially when Asgore's voice broke. They were touched; of course they were; it was a good point. Frisk's experience with siblings was horrifying, and Asgore's caution made sense.

But it just wasn't the right answer, right now.

Not for Frisk.

 _“No!”_ they protested, looking heartbroken. “No, Mami, Papi, you don't understand. I want a _big_ family! I want _real_ siblings. I... I want... siblings who... l-love me, and who...  _I_  can love, back... and I can... pr... pr- _protect_...!!"

Tears filled their eyes, and they hunched over, covering their face in both frustration toward themself, for crying like a baby, and from the pain, brought on by the realization that _they_ were going to be their beloved parents's _last_ child.

To Frisk, both Toriel _and_ Asgore deserved _all_ of the children in the world, and _together_. _Especially_ after all they'd gone through and lost, and suffered from, for decades and decades...

Frisk really wanted more siblings, so that more children got to experience the love given to them so kindly, and to save _them_ like _they'd_ been saved...

It stunned Asgore and Toriel.

Toriel was already glaring at Asgore for blurting out the answer without proper tact, but even she knew that Frisk wasn't crying because of what he'd said; not exactly.

They were crying from that answer, true. That was obvious to all three. But Frisk had honestly to be fine with it, and for several years - and that was true. They had, because it _had_ been a very healing experience. Frisk _needed_ that attention, and all to themself for that while, one used to heal from the agony they'd experienced when never _allowed_ to be by themself...

They'd been deeply abused by their foster "siblings", and had enjoyed and needed the healing solitude and sole attention with and from Toriel. 

Then, when Asgore moved back in, Frisk started to question it, and not because they had to share that love. They already knew for a fact that the children of these two became selfless warriors, even when selfish during their lifetimes; their final shared act had made those moments dimmer and harder to see.

Frisk wanted them to have at _least_ one more kid of their own, to love their own child to the fullest. Frisk assumed it was more than they could love a human, and hated depriving their parents of the joy of that.

Frisk often cried when thinking like that, because it made them hate being a human, above all else in the entire world. All they'd ever wanted was to be a monster, so they were fully loved, too.

All while missing the fact that Frisk _already was..._

And both parents started to understand why - and for the first time, the question forced them to give them that answer.

But neither Asgore, nor Toriel, could even consider it, now. 

Deep down, Frisk knew that, too. It only made them cry harder, despite not being the one to blame.

* * *

Frisk was thirteen, now, and they still loathed the years they'd spent at a human school and within foster care, both before and after they fell. They were always misgendered, always mocked for using neutral pronouns, and kept being the punchline to lewd jokes that were _sickening_.

It was a blessing to finally go to Toriel's school, and never have to deal with that, again. But a kind of rivalry had formed between the two schools because of it, and the students that had bullied Frisk at the human school remembered them – because they'd been expelled to avoid the lawsuit.

It was the bullies' own fault; the students had begun to grow even more hostile toward Frisk during those last few weeks, especially when, after a leak to the media, people started using female pronouns after Frisk's sex was revealed; nobody knew how that came out, but it had; humans were obsessed with gender.

Frisk remembered, too. All of it hurt. It reminded them too much of foster care, and she was glad to be freed of it. Those students had started attacking Frisk _physically_ : trying to pull down their pants or their shirt off, watching and stalking them whenever they went to use a washroom (usually the unisex one for wheelchairs; there were no students who needed it at that time), and _worse_.

But _the_ worst - and the tipping point - was Frisk's last day, there: they tried to break in while Frisk was in that washroom, and expose them.

Frisk had waited after using the toilet, hiding the entire time, and when they heard nothing, they tried to leave – only to be dragged out and attacked, feeling hands going over their body, touching and grabbing...  _everywhere_...

Frisk screamed, kicked, tried to punch, and bit anyone who tried to muffle or throw them down. Luckily, they were rescued by a teacher – and got sent home right after.

Frisk came in early, and was sobbing a great deal, with ripped and ruined clothing and a bloody nose. When their parents came home, terrified when they hadn't found Frisk waiting for them - or helping them - after school. They - it was the first time they'd partnered up as parents, their worry more important than their (Toriel's) annoyance - found Frisk in curled up in Chairiel, looking tiny within it, but wrapped in the blanket around their shoulders. They'd done nothing but take their shoes off, grabbed a glass of water, then, this.

Even Frisk had no idea how long they'd laid there, but the second they saw their parents, Frisk broke open and sobbed out their woes. Both held them, but Asgore looked at Toriel over Frisk's head, and when she saw his expression, she expected judgement or disappointment. 

Instead, she saw fury, and the thirst for revenge in the form of human blood in those old eyes, Asgore's face twisted into a mask of that rage - all while he cried into their human's hair. 

Not toward Toriel, like she thought - but those children, who'd hurt his own.

And Frisk had reached up and touched his face for a moment, before putting it back over their own. Asgore's eyes closed, and now, he looked small, and destroyed...

That was it for Toriel.

In the span of ten minutes, on the following day of school, Toriel found the main culprits, then dragged all of them to the human principal's office, warning the staff there that she would be filing a complaint to the human school board, Frisk was never coming back, and the boys she'd thrown in were either to be expelled – or the Dreemurrs would sue the school.

Those four boys never forgotten that, either. For those years, they stalked Frisk, four boys in total, and all human – with very light complexions, too, especially when compared to Frisk.

Toriel had noticed that with no reaction, before; now, remembering it disturbed her even more.

They stayed friends, vowed revenge toward Frisk, and whenever they could. All four took turns, to assuage suspicion, learning Frisk's routines and habits, their walking routines toward either school or city hall or a bus stop - or an Underground checkpoint.

And when those boys saw a chance, it was two or three years later. They were still angry, and they all agreed that it was time for Frisk to remember, too.

Therefore, at the end of the first day at her new school, Frisk was attacked, again.

* * *

Frisk was already running late, making sure to leave nothing they needed for home in her locker, a bad habit they never truly beat. But when they turned to leave, they found themself somehow cornered by those boys, who'd found a way into Toriel's school - and looked at Frisk like they were ready to _murder_ them.

Already, Frisk was terrified, but added to it was the knowledge that several years had passed, and their assailants were not just older, but cis males.

If they were still _this_ angry, Frisk was in trouble. They knew what boys could do, in order to finally “find out what Frisk really was”...

The second Frisk understood, they again scream, like they had back then. But it was _after_ school, and the evening had started; nobody had lingered but them. And now, they were already cornered in seconds, surrounded by these boys – already a year or two older than her, even older, now – and when Frisk tried to push past and run free, they were pushed back. Frisk kept trying, adrenaline and fear making them have more stamina than expected, but it didn't matter. One boy finally just _slammed_ Frisk into their own locker, held up by the neck, they refused to answer, like always, let alone even _look_ at them.

That had made Frisk lose their breath for a moment, but not enough to lose consciousness – or to accidentally meet any of their gazes, still.

Luckily.

So far.

But Frisk knew they were in trouble, big time, and if nobody came, they would be...

Frisk screamed again, the very idea of it giving them another burst of vocal strength, but was slammed harder into the metal wall, and they choked, stunned.

The boys – the _attackers_ – then started _pawing_ at Frisk’s clothes, taunting and jeering while Frisk struggled to remember what Undyne had taught them about fighting back, to escape them by using their own idiocy against them, but those boys were too big and too strong, and Frisk was still a small, peaceful person...

They tried to scream again, but felt something hard hit the side of their face, and they crashed back into the locker, whiting out, this time.

When they came to, it was to _pain_. Frisk realised one boy held them down to the floor, and another was punching their chest to _keep_ them down, while the other two took turns kicking their sides. Frisk coughed and gasped for breath, still trying to fight back. They raised their hands, but found them held down, too. They tried to scream, and was slapped across the face, making them see nothing but bright spots....

Then, Frisk felt a particularly hard kick to their chest, and they choked, again, then groaned with pain. To make it worse, just when it was needed most, their body stopped working, too. They felt themself go limp, even while fighting against it, but _it_ was stronger than them, too...

They coughed for air – and was punched again, making them reel and sob, in pain and fear, trying to scream, but finding something too heavy pressing down on their throat, making them choke for real – and start to suffocate. They tasted blood, and wondered how that was possible, even as their eyes rolled up and their body jerked and spasmed, trying to break free, still.

It failed; it was exactly what those tormenting little torturers wanted.

They started laughing, even as Frisk started making noises, ones uncontrolled, desperate for air and rescue. Their eyes closed, tears running down their cheeks, willing themself to wake up, but nothing changed.

Frisk was still in hell.

But those boys had forgotten Frisk's last name, and after this, would never forget it, again - even when Frisk forgot about _them_.

 _“Who the fuck are you?! What are you doing to that child?!”_ a voice suddenly screamed out, deep and enraged – and threatening. A voice that carried danger, and warning.

The bullies jumped, then turned, and found a monster standing there.

Toriel Dreemurr, the Queen of the Underground. And also Frisk's mother.

“Help me--!” Frisk then croaked out, just before one of the boy put his arm back against their neck – and resume strangling them, silencing them at once.

Frisk didn't know it was Toriel, their senses far away and fading. But in those seconds, Toriel saw and heard that it was Frisk.

And almost lost her mind with rage.

There was the sound of magic being activated, followed by _, “Get away from my child, you little shits! Now!!”_

For whatever reason - pride, idiocy, to prove a point - regardless, this made all four defiant instead of afraid. The two that had been punching and kicking Frisk snorted and jeered, and one didn't even look at Toriel, his hands still tugging at Frisk's clothes and ripping them in his haste; the last boy kept strangling Frisk, so they wouldn't fight back.

That didn't last.

“By the time I get there,” Toriel snarled. “You better be _gone_. You _do not_ want me to get to you, little boys, in this life, or the next.”

And she pointed the tip of her magicked sword forward, its blade warbling like ruby waves over the smoothest of metals.

“If you do not let them go, I will help you along to a _better_ rebirth,” she concluded coldly. "Hopefully back as the s _hit that you came from."_

Many forgot that Toriel had not _just_ been a Queen – but a W _arrior_ Queen _,_ one _skilled_ at killing humans, even if she'd never stolen - or kept - a soul. She idly wondered if today would be the start of another war – but didn't stop walking, deciding that if it happened, at least she still had Frisk...

The closer Toriel got, the looser their holds became upon Frisk's body, and when Frisk squirmed hard enough - their last attempt - they managed to break free at last, and slipped from between those boys' legs, tripping and falling front-first upon the floor with a shocked gasp and a hard, thwack of a landing.

Toriel swung her sword, then, just close enough for the boys to feel the air displaced by it, but not close enough to hurt them.

 _Yet_.

Frisk felt bright pain, from forehead to nose, as well as to their chest, but couldn’t move, also unable to catch their breath. All they could do was tilt their face to the side, their hair falling to cover their face, hoping that the pain would stop, and they could finally breathe, or the room would stop spinning...

Once she was certain that Frisk was safe - as much as they could be, for now - Toriel lunged forward for _real_ , her sword rising up with its edge pointed out and glittering, absolutely ready to shed blood...

She saw her child’s face. She knew how _and_ why Frisk had been harmed, and even remembered her own part in its past. And she refused to let these children go, or allow this to stand.

No child should _ever_ try to do such a thing to another, and least of all over something like _gender_.

“Leave here! _Now!”_ she snarled, her teeth bared and her eyes bright with fire. 

And of course, at seeing _real_ rage, those little boys scarpered, because anyone as disgusting as them, those sick enough to try and force such a criminal act, is made of nothing but cowardly shit.

Toriel, once they were gone, went back to Frisk, surprised and relieved to find both Asgore _and_  Sans helping them to their feet. Frisk was barely conscious, wobbling for balance with their head lowered, and they gasped for breath, the very act one of agony.

Their clothes were torn: their shirt-collar, and at the front of their jeans; the fly was open and parted with the button torn off.

Frisk was still coughing as well crying by the time Toriel touched their cheek, their eyes closed, already, and on her silent command (her eyes met her husband's, and wavered with tears she couldn't shed, yet), Asgore picked their human up.

He did, and held them close, kissing their forehead, and holding them close, trembling with tears. Frisk stirred, and he nuzzled their cheek, but he was also crying, now, too. 

The second Frisk felt weightless, they were overcome with the feelings of comfort and safety, the arms familiar. They could smell Asgore, too, if not in the same way, and it was exactly what Frisk needed to feel, to _know_. It worked so well that, when Asgore's nose touched their cheek, instead of snapping out of shock, they just blacked out, because they knew it was safe to do so.

Toriel gasped, just as Asgore kept nuzzling Frisk's face, to wake them, like he would have Asriel – or Chara – his face _terrified_. Toriel touched Frisk's other cheek and called for them, trying to keep her voice steady, knowing both Frisk _and_ Asgore needed her to be the strong one, this time...

Sans was watching, his hands in his pockets and his eyes pits. His expression softened once he saw Toriel, but when he saw her grief, he grew bleak, again. He helped when needed, but most just stood out of the way and made sure they weren't bothered.

Frisk stirred again, feeling both touches of comfort upon their skin, and it made them wake up a little. They reached up and touched Toriel's hand, fingers shaking, and nodded, before coughing, again, another hand to their chest. With a soft grunt, they winced, gritting their teeth - revealing them to be bloody, but not broken. The next cough brought up a string of bloody saliva, and while Frisk kept trying to communicate that they were fine, nobody bought it. 

Frisk's nod was a lie, one made without saying a word, and their parents and uncle knew it.

“They're _not_ okay,” Toriel said, after a closer examination.

Their father thought so, too. Asgore nodded, and without another word, the three walked out left the school – and ran into their car, Toriel speeding on their way out.

Sans grabbed Frisk's belongings and closed the locker, but had left after he handed them over and the car revved on its way out. He decided to be the one to tell the others what happened, too, and advised them to stay away for a while, or at least until Frisk was home safely - advice he also took, himself.

* * *

They took Frisk to an Urgent Care Centre, who then transferred them to the ER of the closest semi-integreated monster hospital; the injuries were too extensive to be properly cared for in an average UCC.

Once they were admitted and taken in, Frisk was treated for a mild concussion, a bruised windpipe, and hairline-cracked ribs (three); they'd also been punched in the chest many, _many_ times, and the bruising was terrible. Frisk had also bit their tongue when punched, which explained the bloody teeth, as well - a small relief, considering what it could have been.

The Dreemurrs refused to leave Frisk, even when most parents would have been forced to. They'd gone the right hospital, with humans on staff, and they were treated with utmost respect and care – and that included remaining with their child, no matter the situation - unless their presence was harmful, of course.

The doctor was fine with it, and told them everything, including the best part: that Frisk would be just fine with a few days of bedrest, monitored sleep, and heating pads. Since they'd watched the doctor examine Frisk, using magic _and_ technology, Asgore and Toriel knew it was true, and it helped them both try and calm down.

It was also familiar. Even without knowing Frisk's relation to Chara, yet, it was still _too_ familiar.

When they were finally alone with their child, Frisk was asleep, and it made both parents hide in the doorway for a moment, in case Frisk woke up before they were calm. The second they saw Frisk in that cot, looking like that, they both got severely triggered (or spooked, as Toriel preferred to call it – annoying Alphys to no end, for some reason), and had to move back, holding each other and sobbing.

They knew Frisk _wasn't_ going to die, but that didn't make it any easier.

Once they were able to, the two shuffled over, holding each other tight to stay brave. They settled beside Frisk's bedside, both on the side without the IV and monitor, it was easier – but still painful.

For a moment, there was silence, save a few sniffles and comforting kisses exchanged, lips going to palms, cheeks, foreheads…

Frisk didn't know. They slept through it all, the IV pumping both saline and painkillers into their veins. The painkillers worked very well, but had easily knocked Frisk out They looked calm, but already, their left eye was swelling up, the eyelid purple and shiny. There were similar marks along their jaw, too. They wore a hospital gown, and it made their human look tiny, as if they were ten, again.

(Later, Frisk was pissed; they'd wanted to experience being dopey – only to discover it five years later, and finding it not worth it.)

To anyone looking in, without context, it was obvious that Frisk had been beaten up, badly – and had almost been...

Neither were capable of finishing that thought, even if the local news did, later.

When Toriel’s eyes went to Frisk's chest, she covered her mouth, nudging Asgore, who was staring into Frisk's face, hating the disfigurement for what it _meant_ , not how it _looked_ …

But when he saw what Toriel did, Asgore silently stood up and left the room, as quickly as he could, making sure not to make any noise. She tried to stop him, but he shook his head, and she let him go. Deep down, she'd expected it; she knew his rage, and how it worked.

And why.

Frisk had bruises on their chest, so bad that they were already visible a few inches below their collarbone. It was related to why their ribs were cracked, too. The nurses were forced to remove Frisk's binder, because it was worsening those cracks, but even that hadn't woken Frisk up, when usually, it would have deeply upset them, to be in public without it...

The doctor decided to keep them overnight at least once, to make sure that there would be no dangers _involving_ those cracks. It wasn't said, but it was obvious that they were afraid of internal bleeding and lung punctures, and honestly, Toriel was fine with the over-caution.

Alone, Toriel cried softly, wishing Asgore would come back, but agreeing with his reasoning for staying away. She knew him well, and instead kept her focus on her child, resting her chin on the edge of the cot and stroking Frisk's chin-length hair. If she closed her eyes, she could easily replace Frisk with Chara, and it made her weep harder.

Because Toriel was immortal, and thus doomed to scatter and bury everyone she loved throughout her life. And for the first time in a while, she questioned it, and wasn't sure if she wanted it, anymore.

She wished Asgore were here...

* * *

Asgore _had_ to leave, though.

He stormed down the hallway and left the hospital. He got as far as the bus stop before he slowed to a stop, raised his fist, and slammed it into the metal pole of the bus sign, a low, pained growl rumbling from his throat. It flashed with both orange and blue, and the pole bent at an almost perfect 90 degree angle.

He punched it, again, with another, louder, _meaner_ grumble, and that one pulled it free from its place, the entire pole landing sideways onto the bus stop's waiting area and clattering to the ground.

He could feel the stares fixed on him, now, but all _he_ saw was Frisk. He heard the shouts of protest, of needing to pay for that pole – before seeing who it was, and backing away quickly from fear, but all he heard was Frisk's laboured breathing, as he held them in the back seat, Toriel driving...

The humans kept away, though, and that was very wise, indeed.

Asgore was one of the most jovial people in the world. His capacity for love was immense, and nearly anyone who knew him found the idea of him being a cold-blood child-killer _ridiculous_ , despite knowing it as basic fact.

Now was not one of those times.

Now, he looked like he had after the final blow to each child: openly weeping, hunched over, and about to fall to his knees, his eyes fixed on the bent pole, and again, only seeing Frisk, but dead, now, just like Asriel, just like Chara, just like all of the ones he'd murdered...

“hey.”

Asgore raised his head and saw sans sitting on one of the benches, his hood over his skull and his face averted – but his voice normal.

“it’s dead, now, i think,” he concluded.

Asgore finally let his knees give out, and he lowered down, holding his head in his hands and trembling, his tail limp and motionless – a rare thing for him.

sans saw, but said nothing. He waited, mentally counting down, and on one...

_“Why weren't you there?!”_

There it was.

Asgore had sat up, his fists upon the concrete beneath him, and it was clear he'd punched it, too, as his knuckles were bleeding. He was glaring at sans, still in tears and knowing his voice was a broken and confused mess, but he knew he had to ask.

“I should _fire you!”_ he added furiously. “Why didn't you _know?!_ How could you do _nothing_ as they were _tortured?!”_

His voice kept getting louder, and for a moment, sans was scared. He felt terrible that he hadn't known what was happening, because he honestly hadn't expected it. Frisk had told him that school was fine - a little challenging, but fine. He had no idea that they'd been tortured so badly, and in so few years, let alone enough to invite this kind of violence, following them after leaving it behind...

“yeah,” he agreed, surprising Asgore. “you should. i would. i want you to.”

He paused, then whispered, “do it. _please_...”

Asgore was stunned, because by the end, he knew what sans was actually saying: he didn't want to be fired, but _killed_.

Frisk meant a lot to him, too.

At this point, his heart and soul were still on Toriel, but he really did feel happy and relieved that she'd remarried Asgore; all she would talk about was him, and it was why he always sent her jokes disguised as rebukes for keeping her feelings from Asgore. Her hesitation made no sense, because he knew she loved the old king, even if sans didn't want her to. She told sans, because she still loved him, and wine made her chatty and weepy, as well as a _little_ weird...

sans didn't and never would hate Asgore for loving Toriel, or Toriel for loving Asgore. He loved Asgore, too, in his own way, and didn't want to destroy what they had.

He and Toriel were best friends, absolutely. But there was a reason why _it_ never happened, and both Toriel and sans agreed with it the second it had – before getting drunk, and...

 _“Did_ you know it would happen?” Asgore asked, suddenly, bringing sans back to reality.

“no,” sans whispered. “i wish i had. i fucked up. they could have been... they'd... had they really ripped...?”

Asgore was staring at him by the time he trailed off. He'd never, in all of their years working together, heard sans _babble_ , before. He got up and sat down next to sans, ignoring everyone and everything else, and touched his shoulder.

“I'm sorry,” Asgore told him, and sans looked up, shocked. “Of course you didn't know. Undyne didn't, either. I know that if you had, we would not be here. I asked that out of rage, and it shames me. Forgive me...”

“dude, asgore, shut up,” sans answered softly, though both knew what he was _really_ saying. “you don't have to say any of that shit to me. i get it.”

Asgore nodded, then lowered his hand. He hunched over, then covered his face, his shoulders shaking. He barely noticed that his hand was bleeding, but it didn't matter.

He wept, because his human child was sick, and he couldn't make it go away.

“Is this my karma...?” he asked, suddenly. “To bury my children, until I’ve somehow made enough reparation to deserve another, for real...?”

“karma is stupid,” sans answered, though he was being serious. “it never works the way it should, and if it does, it's usually when it's too late, anyway.”

There was a pause, and Asgore used it to weep, hoping to get it all out.

“the fact that you didn't kill frisk, despite knowing it would be over with them, was when you balanced whatever bad karma you had,” sans said. “because _i know_ how hard that was, to just give up on everyone out of guilt and hope.”

Asgore felt pain from the truth of those words, but remained silent.

“but what we all forgot was that humans are kinda gross,” sans went on. “they are _awful_ to each other, worse than they were to us, in a lot of ways. what almost happened... _that_ doesn't happen a lot amongst us.”

Asgore shut his eyes, but nodded. He didn't want to even think about what could have happened to Frisk, if Toriel hadn't been there...

“tori sure likes to make an entrance,” sans was saying, his voice a little lighter. “first with you, then those kids. she's badass. i wish I could've seen her rule.”

Asgore found himself smiling a little. “You _have_ seen here rule: as Headmistress. It suits her well, this an apt kingdom for my queen.”

sans nodded, and there was another pause.

Then, “wait, are you stupid? have a kid!”

Asgore blinked, shocked, his smirk gone. “Kid...?” he echoed.

“you're a boss monster, and you idiots don't die unless you breed,” sans elaborated, although Asgore was way ahead of him. “just have a kid, and _they_ will bury _you.”_

Asgore was silent, but he covered his mouth and nose, his eyes wide and unfocused. He couldn't speak.

sans nudged him. “what's up?”

Asgore closed his eyes. “I can't,” he croaked out. “We can't.”

“why not?” sans wondered, genuinely confused. “making them is the best part, right? and it would solve all of your problems.”

Asgore shook his head, but then felt his hip vibrate, his cellphone still new to him, but one he liked very much. He was relieved, because he'd been about to break down, and he couldn't afford to, yet.

It was Toriel. _“Come back, Gorey.”_

His heart skipped, and he got to his feet, startling sans – and everyone else staring at him. He ran, as fast as he could, a little slower than most but still a good speed (sans knew he could never catch up, and didn't try), and threw himself into the tiny room Frisk was in.

Frisk, who was now sitting up with a tray table over their lap, their phone and a cup of water upon it.

Toriel looked furious, and Frisk was red, too, but they smiled when Asgore came in, hugging him tight. Toriel tried to steal the phone, but Frisk's hand slammed down onto it without pulling away, and Toriel growled at them.

Asgore kissed Frisk's nose, then sat down, taking the hand they offered to him. The other still held their phone, and neither mother nor child would move their hand.

“Tori?” Asgore asked.

“They won't give me the phone, so I can keep it overnight at home!” Toriel answered between clenched teeth. “You need sleep, child!”

Frisk finally pulled the phone free and held it. “Mami, I _need_ to respond to what happened! I'm still the Ambassador!”

“This isn't work-related!”

“Yes, it is,” Asgore broke in, startling them. “Tori, Frisk is right. By now, everyone must know that Frisk was hurt, and the rumours have likely spread, especially since _those_...”

He cut himself off, then shook his head. “…ran away.”

“I know their names, and I _am_ suing their families for the assault, battery, _and_ the attempted rape of my own child, and to me, _that's personal!”_ Toriel cried out, making him wince and look away, the word hurting him.

Frisk, however, went still. “What?” they said, their hands shaking.

Asgore felt his stomach tank, and Toriel did, too, her demeanour changing at once. She moved her hand to Frisk's cheek, careful of the marks there, and her face was deeply sad. Asgore kept looking away, unable to speak.

“Was...?” Frisk whispered. “ _Was_ I...?”

 _“No!”_ Toriel cried, standing up to lean down and press her nose to the part in Frisk's hair, her arms going around them gently. “No, no, no... they _tried_ , yes, but I stopped them. I said _attempt_ , _attempted_ , only..."

Frisk started crying, but softly. “Those same guys,” they remembered. “They tried to do _that_...? _Why?_ What did I do _wrong_ , Mami? Papi, _please?”_

Asgore instead hugged Frisk's other side, as well as Toriel, and burst into tears, kissing Frisk's head so often that their hair got damp.

Frisk hadn't done anything wrong; all they were was gender-neutral. But apparently, that was enough to justify hurting them – even better, since they were the Ambassador. Maybe they'd hoped Frisk would quit.

Or maybe they were just very, _very_ gross, products of a toxic society that poisons its sons and daughters without admitting to it, and part of that was refusing to acknowledge the existence and rights of those in between.

It made Frisk _furious_. They started crying, too, but angrily. They shook their head, their hands going into their hair and tangling within it, and they shut their eyes, hunching over.

When they felt her parents take hold of them again, they clung to them, this time, and together, they shared that weep – and became closer than ever before.

Asgore never forgot what sans had said.

Frisk recovered, the boys were punished, and such a thing never happened, again.

But Asgore still remembered.

* * *

“Frisk,” he said, now, reaching up and taking hold of one of their hands. “We know how lonely you are. We do. And...”

He swallowed, his eyes going to Toriel's. She blinked, realising how intense the look was.

“And I think it's something Tori and I should discuss, further,” he concluded, shocking her.

But then, she remembered that loneliness, her own, and discovered that she wanted to. She wanted to talk about it, to consider it, too.

Frisk looked overjoyed, now, a contrast to how they'd been mere minutes before. They were crying, but with tears, now, their hands grabbing one of Toriel's, and one of Asgore's. They were speechless, and again, their parents held them close until they – this time, all three – had calmed.

Frisk didn't mention it again that night. They spent the evening between their parents, cuddled on both sides and feeling like the moves beloved child in the world.

And they deserve someone like them, that looks like them, that can use magic and live longer and be brave...

But that night, it was brought up, again. And this time, it was finally answered.

* * *

They held each other in the dark, listening to the night fall, and once Frisk's room was quiet, Toriel spoke.

“Gorey, do you want a baby?”

Asgore swallowed hard. He could tell that it was a hard question for her, one not easily answered so suddenly.

But was it sudden? Frisk's attack and sans's incredulity had made Asgore begin to pay attention to his paternal urges, and found them to be all over the place.

“I don't know,” he admitted.

“Neither do I,” Toriel agreed.

Asgore closed his eyes. “When Frisk... when that thing happened...”

Toriel stiffened a little, but nodded.

“It made me realise how _tired_ I am of burying human children, Tori. I've buried _seven_ , and I knew I wouldn't be able to do it again with Frisk.”

He paused, and Toriel stayed quiet, which helped. His brain often worked fast, and what took time was him going back to stay present.

“I don't think I can do it, Tori,” he confessed at last. “I don't want to bury a human child, again. Especially one of our own.”

Toriel whispered, “Even with a child, there's always a chance we'll have to bury or scatter them too early, Gorey.”

“But not guaranteed,” he answered. “Someone could kill me, yes, and that would be preferably, honestly...”

Toriel went red, angered, but when he saw his face, she softened a little.

Then, he said something completely unexpected.

“I want _Asriel_ back, Tori.”

Toriel was stunned. He'd said it seconds after he lowered his head to the top of hers and buried his face between her horns, saying it into her hair.

But he meant it. She knew he did.

“I don't want _another_ baby,” he went on, and Toriel closed her eyes, feeling her heart crack. “I want _our_ baby. I want the baby we lost too soon... I want... I want--,”

His words were barely coherent, and Toriel knew it meant he was at his breaking point. She silenced him with a light kiss, and his eyes closed, his body shuddering with grief.

“Me, too,” Toriel admitted. “I want that, too. I'm terrified that we'll try, and expect him, and not be able to love them for not being him; unfairly.”

He nodded; he had, too.

“I can't do that to an innocent life,” Toriel confessed, the words spilling out. “And what happened to Frisk... what happened to them... I can't make another child go through that, Gorey! I can't! I'm sorry, I _can't!”_

She broke down the second she told him her answer, but he grabbed her and held her tight, rocking them both in place. He felt the exact same way, and like her, he felt his own heart crack.

It wasn't going to happen.

They _idea_ of it was wonderful. But the _reality_ of it was too heartbreaking to face.

So they made that choice, on they would tell Frisk the next day - hoping they were brave enough to face their child's pain and grief.

* * *

They had no idea that Frisk was still awake, unable to sleep in hopes of hearing them talk about a sibling.

They heard murmuring, and pressed their ear, then a glass cup _and_ their ear, to the wall, and listened. They didn't hear every word, but they didn't miss enough to make a false conclusion, either.

When there was only crying sounds, Frisk set the glass aside - and cried, too.

It was then that Frisk made _the_ promise, one they decided _would_ happen, on their very “birthday”. It was the perfect gift, and it would make everyone happy.

Frisk decided to exchange their life for the life they'd never known.

After all, it was their own great-aunt that had killed Asriel alongside her. They both thought it was the best way to even that karma out.

And Frisk wasn't afraid of death.

Not really.

It was an easy decision to make, because it would be _after_ they'd lived a long life. They would speak to Alphys, see if she had any ideas about it, but in a way to make sure she wouldn't seem suspicious. They would learn all they could about DT, Asriel, Chara, their deaths, all of it...

…and when Frisk died, they would give their soul to Asriel, in some way, and bring their _real_ child back to them. That way, though Toriel and Asgore _would_ bury Frisk, it would only be only last time.

And Frisk wouldn't have to bury or scatter another parent, either.

 _And everyone would be happy, too..._ Frisk though sleepily, before drifting off into a dreamless sleep.

They were dead wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THAT'S WHY THEY DIDN'T HAVE KIDS. NOW GET OFF MY CLIT!!!
> 
> Most of Frisk's childhood in Abovetale is a mystery, alluded to only in memories, conversations, and flashbacks. I intend to use this collection not just for our favourite Goat Parents (no fresh flowers will be thrown away), but also Frisk being raised by them, and what led them to be who they are once they finally get their own fic - Delilah. So, yeah. That 50 may go up to 100.


End file.
